


Swords and Starlight

by apostate (394percentdone)



Series: Three Leaf Clover [2]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Multi, Sword Flirting, astarion is a bit of a cheeky ass huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27480430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/394percentdone/pseuds/apostate
Summary: astarion flirts, wyll realizes, marsaili watches them both
Relationships: Astarion/Wyll (Baldur's Gate), Wyll (Baldur's Gate)/Original Character(s), astarion (baldur's gate)/original character, astarion/wyll/original character
Series: Three Leaf Clover [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981582
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Swords and Starlight

Marsaili sits with their feet in the water. Torchlight glows on the creek’s shore, cold water flowing over their ankles. Charcoal stylus tapping against the open tome in their lap, they had set out apart from the main camp looking for quiet earlier but. Another solid thud and low grunt come from the trees where Wyll practices with his sword and the long dagger Marsaili had found in the worg pens. If he came looking for solitude Marsaili isn’t about to let him know he hasn’t found it. 

And if he didn’t, well, Marsaili can appreciate the company. 

Swiping a thumb across the sketch taking shape in their tome Marsaili glances back to Wyll. There isn’t a moon tonight and the torch he lit doesn’t illuminate the rocky soil far, he may not know he’s being watched. Studied. Hand to their chin Marsaili doesn’t care to take their eyes from him. 

It’s warm out, a late summer evening remembering the sunlight, so Marsaili isn’t surprised by his lack of a jerkin, they are a little surprised by how much they enjoy his bare forearms in the starlight. Dark blue sleeves rolled up to his elbows but Marsaili lingers on his wrist, his hand, the x-cross guard he holds with his sword and dagger as Wyll moves through another form. He said he’d been a noble and watching him now Marsaili can see it in the way he carries himself through the motions. Practice and grace. 

“Darling you seem quite enthralled.” 

Marsaili jumps, startled out of their quiet contemplation. “By Titania, Astarion.” Raising a hand to their chest in only half faked shock, keeping their voice low in the dark. “Step on a twig or something next time.” 

Chuckling Astarion seats himself on the rock next to Marsaili, avoiding the water. He leans over their shoulder with a curious eye, matching their quiet, “Studying up are we?”

“On human anatomy, you could say.” It isn’t like the sketch will stay in their tome, that isn’t how their gift works. Once they close it the charcoal drawing will disappear and be absorbed in the same way everything they’ve written in the damned book is gone upon opening it. Knowledge is a two-way street, or at least the tome’s knowledge is. 

Either way. Marsaili smudges out an errant line and glances over to Astarion, “Besides, I’m hardly the only one who is, say, thirsty.”

A slow smirk spreads across Astarion’s face, “He’s big, strong, and righteous. I’m salivating just thinking about it.” He pulls back his lips just enough for his fangs to catch on them, leaning forward to whisper in their ear. “And you?” He punctuates his words with a nip at the corner of their jaws, a kiss with teeth.

“I’m thinking about asking Wyll what he thinks about.” Marsaili pauses, grips their charcoal pencil tightly in their hand, “About maybe joining our little, thing.”

Astarion pulls away, twists so he’s almost looking over his shoulder at them but not quite, head tilted and eyebrows raised, smirk pulling against his lips again. “Our thing? Is that what we’re calling this now?”

Of course that’s what he landed on first. Drawing on their willpower Marsaili avoids rolling their eyes, for the moment. “Do you have, I don’t know, any other words you want to use?”

Starlight catches in Astarion’s hair as he tosses his head with a flick of his wrist. And flicks it again, a neat little circle in the air while his eyes search the night for an answer he doesn’t have. This time Marsaili doesn’t fight back the grin stretching their lips. Or their eye roll at Astarion’s “Well.. No. Fine.”

“Uh Huh.” Marsaili shakes their head with a laugh muffled by their hand, “And the other half of that sentence?”

Cool lips return to Marsaili’s jaw, “Is he still practicing?”

Turning their attention from the teeth scraping their skin Marsaili glances back to where Wyll was practicing a few minutes ago, and finds him there still. Sleeves rolled up and footwork sure, stepping through a pattern Marsaili couldn’t replicate if they tried. 

“Still practicing, though if you don’t hurry you won’t be.” Marsaili runs a thumb across Astarion’s cheek and curls their hand in his hair, doesn’t hurt not to be subtle. Well, sometimes it does, but not here. Though they don’t stop watching Wyll. 

And it sounds like they may be watching for a while longer yet. 

Distracted hums shiver across their jaw but Astarion sits back and runs his tongue over his teeth. “We have all night, darling, allow me a little fun first.” 

Marsaili snorts, “Don’t let me get in the way of quite a bit more than a little.”

Standing with a stretch, smug grin on his face, “Never.”

Starlight and summer nights, bright warmth in Marsaili’s chest. It has been a long time since they’ve felt something like that, hasn’t it? They watch Astarion saunter away, flicking their gaze from him to Wyll and back again. If Wyll has noticed his approach he hasn’t acknowledged it. What must the night be like for him, warm from the sun and practice and quiet in the creek bed, is it peace he was looking for when he came over this way? 

Or was he, too, looking for company.

“Wyll, my dear, you must know you’ll get more out of sparring with someone else rather than the trees.” Astarion waits until he’s walking into the ring of light cast by the torch and Marsaili huffs at his dramatics. The light glints off the dagger he’s tossing in his off hand and where in the hells did he pull that from, or the other one held out towards Wyll. 

A sharp invitation, apparently the only ones Astarion knows how to extend. But Wyll doesn’t start at his appearance out of the shadows, “Don’t patronize me Astarion.”

“Patronize you?” Astarion leans forward and catches his dagger with the blade facing down. Sweeps his arms wide, “It’s an honest observation.”

Marsaili folds one leg up to their chest and rests their chin on their knee, charcoal still in hand. There might be enough room to squeeze Astarion in next to Wyll in their sketch, maybe. More than enough reason to keep watching. Practice is practice after all. 

Lowering his guard Wyll takes a half step forward, “You want to spar with me?” His voice is almost a question, certainly framed like one, but something lingers under his words and Marsaili can’t put their finger on it entirely. 

“Who wouldn’t.” Straightening back up, smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth. It's a little hard to tell but Marsaili is sure his eyes slide down and back up Wyll’s form before he continues, “Though I might be overdressed for the occasion.” 

“Put your fangs away and I’ll consider it.” Wyll squares his stance as he motions towards Astarion with a blade. Waiting. 

Astarion sheaths his daggers and unbuttons his jerkin without hesitation. Places it delicately on one of the rocks by the shore and rolls his shoulders, “Much better.” White lace drapes around his wrists and collar without the leather to support it, loose compared to Wyll’s carefully rolled sleeves. 

Everything about him glows in soft starlight. Silver curls and white lace and pale skin. Bright in the night, like a falling star landing on this plane. Sharp fangs and gentle hands. Astarion’s smirk is dangerous, curved like the blades in his grip.

But if he’s starlight… 

Wyll is the night sky itself. Midnight blue on dark brown skin and a smile like the setting sun. Beautiful and too far away to hold. What would his hands be like on them, his fingers between theirs? Tender sunsets and sweet nothings. Marsaili wonders if they’ll be allowed to find out for sure.

Metal clashes and Marsaili blinks, already lost in thought. A pity, they could have watched the opening strike. Wyll’s new blade glints in the dark where it’s raised to block Astarion’s and the only thing sharper than the edge of Wyll’s sword is Astarion’s smirk. 

Twisting his arm around Astarion forces Wyll’s sword down and back up in a circle before Wyll counters with his own dagger. Shifting, guarding, holding his blade between them. Ringing in the quiet as they trade blow for block. 

It’s a dance Marsaili watches hungrily. Each motion catches their attention only to distract them from the next, Astarion’s lazy grin matched by Wyll’s relaxed eye. Charcoal dust smears under their fingernails but Marsaili doesn’t care capturing them in smooth lines catches something warm in their gut, and its easier to focus on finishing the drawing than figuring that out.

They’re fast together, feet circling each other as their swords glint in the starlight. “You’re aptly named, your blades are as quick as your tongue.” White teeth flashing, steel sliding off steel. Astarion smirks with his next attack darting out with a dagger towards Wyll’s throat. Blocked with a sword sword nearly instantly.

Sidestepping around him Wyll drives Astarion’s sword arm sideways before twisting it down, forcing Astarion to kneel his dagger under his throat. “And you’re all talk and no bite.

Marsaili bites their lip to contain themselves. Eyes darting between their open page and the pair dueling on the creek shore. Wyll knows, they all do, but. He’s the only monster hunter out of them, the only one who would, by Astarion’s late night admission, more than likely stand a chance. 

“Would you like that Wyll?” Astarion tilts his head back and Wyll follows with the tip of his dagger. 

Staring at each other for a long moment, Marsaili’s heart thundering in their ears. But not… Not out of fear. The hunger they felt watching the two of them spar, they can see it in Wyll’s eyes too. 

He lowers his dagger and motions for Astarion to stand, “You leave your left open too often.” 

Rising to his feet Astarion keeps his head raised, “I’ll keep it in mind.” Squaring his stance and flipping the grip on a dagger he shakes his head. 

Astarion strikes first and Wyll parrys without blinking. Falling into the motions, the dance. Faster this time, clashing metal on metal and Marsaili wonders if they’ll get to hear them complain about needing to sharpen their blades again. 

Circling endlessly, a step forward followed by a step back. Guard and attack and block and counter. Marsaili never studied swordsmanship, never needed to carry a blade longer than their palm before the mindflayer ship, but watching them in under the stars. It’s exhilarating. Tantalizing. 

A flurry of movements catches their eye, Astarion catches Wyll’s short sword between his daggers and steps forward with a twist of his wrist shoving Wyll’s blade back towards his gut. Another step closer, sliding the sword down and another step with his foot landing between Wyll’s. Close enough Marsaili can’t breathe, close enough Wyll’s eyes widen. 

Close enough Astarion’s smirk carries the threat of fangs. 

“I _told_ you to put your fangs away.” Wyll ducks out of Astarion’s trap and Astarion drops his arms quickly. 

Something flashes across Astarion’s face but it’s gone before Marsaili can say what it is. There and vanished in an instant. “I wasn’t really going to bite you.” His voice wavers, words tripping over themselves. Almost startled. “I wouldn’t if you don’t want me to.” 

Wyll squints at him and Marsaili squirms on their rock. They’re not fifty feet away and yet suddenly its as if a chasm opened up between them. Setting their charcoal aside, closing their tome on their half finished sketch. Watching. 

“How would I know that?” Sheathing his blades he may have ducked away but he hasn’t stepped back fully. Close enough to touch. Marsaili keeps their gaze on Wyll, following his eyes as he looks Astarion over. 

Huffing Astarion sheaths his daggers, “Because I’ve been told I need to ask before feeding on people I _like_.” Crossing his arms for a moment before untangling them to flick a wrist directionlessly, “So, no biting you.” Pausing, sly smile sliding over his face. “Unless, of course, you’re willing.”

Shifting his weight before answering Wyll nearly looks, guilty. His gaze flicks into the darkness and lands somewhere in the creek by Marsaili. They must not have been as quiet as Marsaili thought, but their smile widens in the quiet, how much did he overhear?

“I wouldn’t,” He coughs lightly, “I wouldn’t call myself unwilling.” Oh Marsaili can feel the awkward guilt rolling off him, see it stuck between his shoulder blades and in his wrist by his mouth. “But I thought you and Marsaili were a thing.”

He definitely overheard all of it.

Astarion creases his brow and wrinkles his nose, mutters something Marsaili can’t make out but by the look on his face they have to assume its about Wyll’s word choice. Their eyes crinkle, chin lowering to their chest in amusement, excellent. “It isn’t, well I mean it is but. It’s not like-” He bites his tongue and Marsaili laughs outright. 

Stands from their perch and starts wandering over. Lets Astarion flounder without them for a moment. Now that image is another they’ll have to study later.

“It’s not like there isn’t room for one more.” Marsaili follows Astarion’s example, waiting until they’re in the circle of torch light to speak. 

Watching is only fun if one gets to join in when they want after all. 

A small smile softens Wyll’s face, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were reading my mind.” 

Marsaili reaches out first. Slips their fingers around Wyll’s wrist and touching his skin is far better than staring at it, soft and warm and strong. They lift his hand and slide their fingers between his, calluses betray his skill with a sword and Marsaili takes their eyes from his palm to face. One eyebrow raised at them curiously, his smile spreading.

Tender sunsets and sweet nothings indeed.


End file.
